Chapter Text
Destiny and time meet as one,
Balanced upon the shoulders of a son,
A dragon born upon flames of old,
Gifted with rare rings of gold.
Deep within, there builds a spark,
Tentative, cultivated by his heart,
For fate’s flame to ignite,
One must evade frost’s deadly bite.
But beware of the dealer’s cruel hand,
Danger awaits those buried in sand,
Survival rests upon one’s wit,
Speed is vital to flee Hell’s pit.
The devastation wrought by power,
Until the last dawn’s final hour,
A harrowing tempest of ice and fire,
Bred from roots of vengeful ire.
Fire will burn, claws will kill,
Not only blood will be spilled.
One game, two down,
All in the name for a paper crown.
»«
Life is a game. In order to successfully play, the players must be aware they are a part of the game to begin with. Life is a game made up of moves and countermoves. Every person plays for their own gain. Death is part of this game. Those not worthy of being crowned victor are kicked off their pedestals by death’s decisive hand, eliminated from achieving the ultimate prize.
Hidden in the sturdy branches of a great elm tree, is the figure of a young man. His body rests perfectly still in a crouch, akin to a tiger, as he contemplates death. Not his own. His target’s. The unfortunate soul his master has employed him to kill – assassinate. His partner sits in a similar position several yards across from him in the gardens of the target’s residency.
The garden is splendid to look at. Lilacs and freesias perfectly nestle in an array of colours in the well-tended soil and blood red rose bushes are spread evenly in a row along the worn wooden walls of the cottage.
It is a pity there won’t be anyone to maintain it once the night is up.
Overhead the moon remains solid and bright, nearing its peak for the night. A signal to get a move on. He wants the job completed long before the birds start chirping their morning songs.
He mentally flicks through any information he had acquired about the task, thinks back to night the order was given. It feels like moons ago, not the mere two weeks of reality.
The room had been bathed in the warm glow of candlelight; the flames flickered across the features of his master’s cruel face as he had condemned a man to his death behind his back.
“I’m not the only one who wants the hatchling dead. Be prepared for some competition. By now, news of the boy’s survival will be headlining the papers,” his master grimaced, a quiet anger stirring beneath his otherwise flawless mask.
“How will I know it’s him?”
“He’ll be wearing the crystal. That’s how you’ll know.”
Right. All dragonborne own one.
He’d known he shouldn’t ask any more questions, but his curiosity bested him. “Why?”
His master shoots him a questioning gaze, eyes sharp, challenging.
“Why him? Why do you and so many others want him dead?” He clarified; an uneasy feeling settled deep within his gut.
Predictably, his master backhanded him, the sting numbed the right side of his cheek. Despite the power of it, he hadn’t flinched. That would have resulted in a much harsher punishment.
“Quiet boy. The hatchling will die. Either by my hand or another’s. The future of yourself and your little friends depends on it.” Their eyes made contact, a moment of cold, contemplative silence passed between the two of them before he’d conceded, choosing to instead submit to staring at his worn boots. “Tell only one other and take them with you. It is to be completed before the month is up, which should be plenty of time.”
Three weeks. Sure. Plenty of time.
“And don’t forget to bring me back the necklace. It is imperative you do.”
“Understood.”
“Good. Do not disappoint me, boy. Dismissed.”
Droplets of rain begin to descend from the inky abyss above, bringing him back to reality. The assassin signals to his partner to begin.